


Tiger lily

by BleedingBishop



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Mycroft is the Power business femme to end them all, She ends Harry and Harry is more than happy about it, Two of them, because what is better than a happy lesbian?, just happy happy lesbians doing gay things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-03-16 03:28:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13627650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BleedingBishop/pseuds/BleedingBishop
Summary: Middle aged Admin Assistant meets middle aged Intelligence Agency consultant and just generally enjoy each other's company.





	1. Chapter 1

“John, who’s that?” Harry asked, nodding at the sleek dark car that had just pulled up outside the house. John grumbled darkly when he caught sight of the car. Harry raised her eyebrows.

“It’s Mycroft.”

“What’s a Mycroft?”

“The last plague of Egypt.” John grumbled, and walked off back into the kitchen of 221B.  
Rosie laughed happily, as toddlers were fond of doing, and Johns grump lightened, picking her up and holding her to his chest.  
The sound of heels echoed up the staircase, a determined step, and a woman-

Woah.

A Woman.

She was tall, 6’5 due to her having the most gorgeous if impractically tall grey patent heels on. A black pinstripe dungaree trouser suit fluttered around her pale ankles, with a delicate white blouse covering a very generous chest, a delicate lace ribbon tied under her collar. Her face was graceful, classic features you saw in romantic artwork of queens from Celtic battles and their Roman enemies, blue grey eyes and a dash of freckles across her nose, long ginger hair pulled away into a professional plaited bun behind her head. 

“John, have y-” Her voice was rich, plummy, so middle class she probably had an estate just for her vocab. However, she was now looking at Harry with wide eyes and her cream pink lips gaped.

“Harry.” She said quickly, walking away from the window to stand in front of the woman. She closed her mouth and quickly held out a manicured hand.

“Mycroft.” Her palms were as soft as Harry’s own, but cooler. 

“He’s not here, so you’re more than welcome to leave Mycroft.” Barked John, startling Harry out of the light daze she had fallen into.

“And have you any idea where he would be, John?” Mycroft asked, attracting Rosie’s attention in John’s arms. She looked at Mycroft with curiosity.

“Yes. He’s at Barts.”

“Thank you.” She turned her attention to Rosie, wiggling her fingers in a wave that had a shy, smiling Rosie echoing it back at her adorably. Mycroft turned to leave, but as she did, dragged her eyes so heavily over Harry that she felt it brush her neck and curl around her thigh.   
The woman then descended back down the stairs, and Harry moved quickly back to the window to see Mycroft exit the flat onto the street below. She looked up, and at realising Harry was watching her, waved gently, however the bite at her bottom lip didn’t seem to be intentional. 

She opened the rear car door, and gracefully dipped into the vehicle. As it drove away, Harry turned back to her younger brother.

“Who was that?” Harry asked, strangely breathless. John rolled his eyes, putting Rosie down on the living room floor to toddle whereever she pleased.

“Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock’s older sister. She works in MI5, or 6 or whatever, but she’s got her fat fingers in all sorts.” 

‘Her fingers were perfectly sized.’

“Wow, sounds interesting.”

“Doesn’t make her less of a-” he stopped his complaint because of Rosie, but it was obvious the remainder of the sentence wasn’t pleasant.

“Hm…”


	2. Chapter 2

John put his phone back in his pocket.

“Well, that's his majesty warned. With any luck they’ll annoy each other so much that they’ll explode and Molly can cut them up and stick them in her fridges.”

“I haven’t even met Sherlock but so far you have given me zero reasons as to why you would even live with him.” John shrugged. Rosie helped herself to a final quarter of a jam sandwich from the plate resting on the arm of John’s chair.

“And don’t I know it.” He then chuckled, and wiped the jam off of Rosies cheeks. Harry ran a finger through her fringe and brushed it out of her eyes. 

“So what’s between Sherlock and Mycroft then?” John paused, before carrying on wiping his child.

“Too much. Don’t worry about it, Harry - you needn’t care. They’ve always been like that. You’ll like Sherlock, though - nicer than Mycroft, and he’s actually capable of being human enough to say hello properly.” John smiled, and Harry nodded quietly. She pulled back to the window, and leant against the wall. The foot traffic outside was mild. The cold autumn afternoon was bringing all walks of life into their scarves and gloves, coats with boots and hats with thick socks. But her mind was elsewhere.

‘What type of woman was Mycroft Holmes? Powerful, obviously. Moneyed, the private driver attested to that. John obviously had no love for her, a baby could see that. Well, not Rosie, she smiled at her. She was well dressed, god, so pretty.’

Harry wanted to know more. She wasn’t known for being a headstrong person, had felt that minding her own person since she left rehab would get her through. She woke up, did her role and went home. There was very little to do. Way back when, Clara had introduced her to all of her friends, and they went when she did. Rehab was hard, and it took the rest of her. John reaching out randomly had put her decline on pause. She felt she had leveled out at a comfortable level for the past year. Like a sea captain on a ship, the drama that rocked everyone else passed by like a fog, not affecting nor leading to any depth of emotion on her part. She never met Mary, and she doubted if she hadn’t passed that she ever would have -   
She had no illusions; John only reached out to her because he was in morning. While she was glad she met her neice, the young lady looked so much like John, she didn’t hold out much hope that she would be invited back long term. 

She didn’t blame him. But deep down, she couldn’t find it in him to thank him. 

John was a headstrong man, with a morality she could never pin down. A Doctor, but a soldier. A healer but a killer. Even now, he had a beautiful baby, but she had been shocked to find a handgun hidden away under piles of useless in a table drawer. She loved her brother, but he…  
She couldn’t describe how he made her feel. 

She was drawn back into the present by John’s phone ringing.

“Hello? Yeah, sure Sherlock. Yeah, sure, I can do that. Yeah, Rosie will be fine. Alright. See you.” 

“What’s up?” Harry asked, smiling down at Rosie who had toddled over to her.

“Sherlock’s taking me and Rosie out for food, apology for his sister.”

“Nice, how long are you going to be?”

“Not too late, obviously. But we should be back before 10. Hey,” John nipped over to the bookcase closest to the kitchen and opened a drawer. A short sharp rummage, and he had pulled out a keyring with a pair of keys. He threw it over to her, and tutted when she failed to catch it.

“Lock up both doors when you go out; there’s nothing in beyond crumbs in so you’ll have to go out to eat.”

“Sure, Bye Rosie.”   
The young girl smiled and went to wave before John grabbed her hand and gently escorted her out of the house and down the stairs. Harry continued smiling until they vanished down the stairs, and she relaxed her face and waited for the echoing steps to stop, and for two bodies to pass through the front door. The couple turned left towards the main road, and vanished out of view.

She sighed and turned from the window, before walking into the kitchen. Opening the fridge only to close it immediately afterwards, the smell of whatever was rotting in there chased her from the room, and then the flat in general. 

“What? That’s… I’m not even…” Harry murmured to herself, before swallowing and locking the door. The old woman who owned the flat wasn’t in, Harry assumed, by the lack of concerned proprietor at the bottom of the stairs, but Harry shrugged and carried on, down the stairs and past her door to the porch of the flat.

Phone, wallet, her keys, John’s copies, and she was out of the building and onto the cool streets of London.

John had not offered any advice about where was good near here, and she had no intention of enjoying McDonalds as her first meal in London, so she turned right, and walked down the pavement in search of somewhere to eat.

….

Half an hour later, McDonalds was looking better and better.

Harry had walked past a grand amount of cafes, restaurants and eateries but she didn’t feel like any of them. She sighed, it was like that, sometimes. Her head knew what she needed, but her stomach rebelled at the idea of eating.

The sound of clicking quickly approaching her, behind her, caused her to turn, to see a tall, beautiful woman in dangerously tall heels slowing from a run to a staggered jog, then a stop as she inhaled quickly and deeply, out of breath from her run.

“Ms Holmes?”

“Ms, Ms Wa- phew, Ms Watson.” Ms Holmes’s flushed face made Harry smile, and was delighted to see her smile in return.

“Are you alright, Ms Holmes?”

“Mycroft, please. Your brother mentioned you were enjoying London alone this evening.” Harry watched her smooth her blouse, softly tugging at the loops of her neck bow, with an interest. She couldn’t imagine running in heels that high, let alone looking still as perfect afterwards.

“I am alone in London, but enjoying might be an exaggeration.”

“Then allow me to show you to a well standing tearoom. I promise you it shall be worth your time.” Mycroft said, and if the purr on her final sentence wasn’t intentional, it still stole Harry’s breath away.

“Oh, sorry, I don’t drink tea?” Harry said awkwardly. But Mycroft just smiled, and nodded.

“How fortunate, Me neither - too many long nights to not take my caffeine black. Please, allow me to find out how you take yours, and do me the pleasure of your company for a short while.” 

Harry couldn’t have looked her in the eye, how cheesy was that line? Oh, but it made her blush so warm she was surprised she hadn’t sun burn.

God, when was the last time she’d felt so flattered?

When was the last time she had allowed herself to be?

“Sure. Would love too.”

**Author's Note:**

> So this is going to be cute and warm because damn I need some of that in my life. No need to hang on this is going to be soft and warm and creamy and just generally a feel good thing.


End file.
